I can do. I didn’t realize we both were headed to the same place or we could have shared the taxi.”
He pulled out a couple of the tissues, gave her back the packet and blotted his temple before rubbing them over his head. His short hair looked both messy and perfect afterward.
“So, you’re a chef,” he said.
“That’s right.” And although she was pretty sure she knew the answer, she said, “You?”
“One of the best.” The smile that accompanied the boast was charming enough to keep his words from sounding too cocky.
“I’m pretty sure everyone in this room can make the same claim,” she replied drily.
His smile widened as he balled up the tissues and, after little more than a cursory glance, tossed them in the direction of a wastebasket that was tucked in the corner. The soggy wad made it in. Of course. More points for him...if she were keeping score.
“I guess this means we’re adversaries,” he said.
Indeed. They both were after the same thing. The very thing for which he’d sought out a good-luck kiss. Keep your eyes on the prize, Lara, she silently admonished, since she was finding keeping her eyes on Finn a far-too-pleasing diversion.
“I guess it does.”
His gaze lowered to her mouth, lingered for a couple of heartbeats. “That’s too bad.”
Before Lara could think of a fitting response, a man stepped out from one of the offices. He was in his late thirties, suit-clad and bespectacled with a receding hairline. But what made him seem older and headmasterish was the way he clapped his hands together to gain their attention.
She recognized him from the preliminary round that she’d won a couple of weeks earlier. His name was Tristan Wembley, and he worked for the network in some sort of production capacity. She couldn’t remember his official title, but he’d made it clear in their previous dealings that if Lara had any questions or concerns, she was to contact him first.
“Welcome, everyone, to Sylvan Studios, the home of the Cuisine Cable Network and its highest-rated program, Executive Chef Challenge, which, as you know, is featuring the famed Chesterfield restaurant this season.
“Congratulations on making it this far in the competition. It’s a testament to your skill as chefs that you are standing here right now. One hundred and eighty-two other hopefuls didn’t make the cut.
“Today, you will get your first look at the kitchen studio. Tomorrow and Friday, we will spend the day taping promo spots that will be televised and also air on our website. Filming of the first round starts Monday morning. You are to report to the studio no later than 7:00 a.m. Plan on spending at least ten hours here.”
Someone gasped. “Ten hours!”
“It may be closer to twelve,” Tristan replied, unfazed.
Even though the segments would air weekly on the network, the chefs would be competing three days a week for nearly four weeks. She was in for some long days.
Tristan’s upbeat tone took an ominous turn when he said, “Take a good look around, chefs, because by this time next week, one of you already will have been sent packing and another one will be on his or her way out the door.”
Lara scanned the waiting room’s occupants, wondering whom it would be. No way was she leaving after the first round or the second. When she got to Finn, he snorted softly and leaned over to whisper, “Don’t look at me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m in it for the duration.”
Under other circumstances, she might have welcomed those words from a gorgeous man whose mouth should be registered as a lethal weapon. In this case...
A tremor swept up her spine. “God, I hope not.”
The corners of Finn’s mouth turned down even as his brows shot up. His tone held a slight edge when he replied, “At least you’re honest.”
If he only knew...
Tristan clapped his hands together again.
“Okay, chefs, if you’ll follow me, we can get started.”
Finn fell in step beside Lara.
“I guess you regret that kiss for luck now,” he said conversationally.
She glanced around, thankful that none of the other chefs appeared to have overheard them. Lip-locks with strangers for good luck wasn’t exactly a topic she wanted broadcasted.
“Probably as much as you’re regretting letting me have that cab,” she replied, keeping her voice so low that he leaned closer to hear her. She swore she could feel the heat wafting from his hot, moist skin.
“You won the cab.” Broad shoulders lifted and his gaze lowered to her lips again. “As for anything else, I’m not beating myself up over it. It was...nice.”
“Nice?” She replied too quickly to edit the incredulity from her tone.
“You have a better adjective for it?” His tone held a dare.
She shook her head and he went on.
“It’s a little inconvenient, though.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said innocently.
He smiled, looking as satisfied as Lara had felt after that amazing kiss. “I think you do.”
Oh, yeah. She did, all right.
He went on. “I want you to know in advance that I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“Taking you down.”
The grin that stole over his face now was worthy of a plundering pirate.
“Damn, you’re arrogant.” But she said it without any heat. In fact, she couldn’t hold back her own smile.
Ahead of them, Tristan was saying, “Each of you has been randomly assigned a workstation. All of the stations are identical with identical supplies. Today, you will have one hour—no more, no less—to acquaint yourself with the space and set it up as you see fit.
“If something is missing or an appliance doesn’t work properly, it’s your responsibility to tell one of the staff before you leave today. Once filming starts on Monday, no adjustments will be made. None,” he stated firmly with a steely glance around. “You will just have to make do.”
Tristan had walked while he talked. The group now stood outside the studio. Over the double doors a red light was encased in a metal cage. It was off now, indicating that no taping was going on. Soon enough the set would be hot and filming would be under way.
As a food stylist, Lara had spent a great deal of time under bright lights and around cameras. She’d considered that good training for this competition. She’d even figured it might give her a leg up on her opponents—until Tristan pushed open the doors and they all filed inside.
The
